


We Belong

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gapfillerpalooza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-04
Updated: 2005-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin watches the band setting up in the corner, the hustle of the caterers, Emmett dealing simultaneously with an armful of flimsy fabric and a very anxious member of the kitchen staff, and a little switch that he didn’t even know was being activated clicks over in his brain.  He wants to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Belong

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 211  
> Written for LJ's Gapfillerpalooza

Justin watches the band setting up in the corner, the hustle of the caterers, Emmett dealing simultaneously with an armful of flimsy fabric and a very anxious member of the kitchen staff, and a little switch that he didn’t even know was being activated clicks over in his brain. He wants to stay.

The realization prompts a sense of relief, a release from the tension in his neck and shoulders. He feels lighter, almost buoyant. He bounces in place, smiling.

He needs to find Brian.

Except George’s house isn’t a house, it’s a fucking mansion, and finding one lone man, even if that man is the type whose very presence fills the room, is easier said than done. Justin has checked the parlours, the kitchen, the pantry, the ballroom, and has resorted to peeking into linen closets -- because some of the caterers are pretty hot, and with Brian, any space will do -- when it occurs to him that there is an entire second level of the house to go through, and possibly a third. He makes his way to the foyer, empty but for a flower-laden Ted and himself, and looks up at the winding flight of stairs and scratches behind his ear. He considers leaving a breadcrumb trail, and wishes he’d paid more attention at that Orienteering day camp last semester instead of sneaking off into the bushes and daydreaming about fucking Brian under the stars.

“Have you seen Brian?” he calls over to Ted brightly, trying hard to keep his optimism intact, because for half an hour the only responses he’s received are “No” or “Who’s Brian?” He thinks Brian would be traumatized to discover just how many people have never heard of the great Brian Kinney, especially since Justin’s finely honed gaydar identified at least three of them as queer.

To his surprise, Ted stops mumbling about some guy named Chuck long enough to gesture distractedly toward the stairs.

Justin takes them two at a time, practically flying. Light. Airless. He realizes, half way up, that it’s not because of the wedding itself. It’s what Debbie said. These people, with all their quirks and foibles, are his family. He belongs.

The snick of a closing door pulls him from his thoughts. Brian has his head down, walking fast, lost in thought, and Justin thinks vaguely that maybe Brian doesn’t look happy, maybe Brian doesn’t look like a man about to embark on the sex-filled vacation of his dreams. But the thought flickers across his mind like a trick of the light, because Brian looks up at him and smiles, and Justin smiles back, and Justin belongs, belongs _here_ , with Brian, or even _without_ Brian, because this is his family, his home.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he calls from near the top of the stairs, his voice echoing slightly in the space, and he smiles again, because he can. Because he wants to. Because today his friends are getting married and his young life is blooming with possibilities.

“Well,” Brian slows his pace long enough to spread his arms wide, before resuming his long legged stride to the staircase, “you found me. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” Justin agrees, and reaches out to tug on Brian’s arm. But Brian bypasses the touch and heads down the stairs, and Justin’s hand is left hanging in mid-air, fingers tingling from the near contact. He has to pump his legs to keep up.

“This marriage stuff is kind of cool,” he says when he catches up with Brian, half way down. “In fact, I was thinking... maybe someday...”

“What?” Brian says. “You and I?”

“Yeah,” Justin laughs. Suddenly, what seemed ludicrous a month before, a week before, seems entirely feasible in the light of this day. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Not really,” Brian murmurs, and then Justin is being pushed against the wall, his space willingly invaded, his body tingling wherever Brian touches, every sense heightened. “What you need,” Brian says, “is a good fucking on the beach.”

Brian resumes his breakneck pace to the foyer, and Justin allows himself a moment of smug satisfaction. Because there were no references to lesbian tendencies, no mocking “Sunshine” or “twat”, no rolled eyes or withering looks or snorts of disgust. Justin thinks that the improbable becomes more probable with each passing moment, and knows that if he’s just patient, if he just continues to chip away at those long-held defences...

But Justin has no time to gloat, or plan, because Brian has reached the end of the staircase, no doubt imagining the various places and positions in which they’ll be fucking in a few short hours. And Justin wants to go. But he wants to stay more.

He leaps down the final steps and lands in front of Brian, effectively cutting off his exit, and jumps straight to the point, because a quick rip is always cleaner than one that lingers, and because Brian appreciates bluntness. “I can’t go,” he says.

He searches Brian’s face, his body language, but there’s no hesitation as Brian puts on his jacket.

“You forgot your Bain de Soleil?” Brian mocks, and Justin bites down on a sigh.

“I wanna go to the wedding.”

Brian quirks his eyebrows. “For Lindsay and Melanie.”

“For me.” Justin struggles to put into the words the feelings tumbling around in his head. But there is no way to express the warmth that is spreading through his limbs, or the way this sense of belonging makes him feel like he’s floating, or the joy that keeps the smile plastered on his face. “I wanna be a part of it. I want to see their faces when they say I Do. Give Emmett kleenex. Console Debbie - you know she’s gonna be a mess!”

Justin thinks he’s made a muddle of explaining things, but Brian is nodding, and something flashes across Brian’s face -- something... but then it’s gone, and Brian says, “So you’re standing _me_ up to see two dykes tie the knot.”

“Yeah,” Justin says. “I guess I am. You angry?”

“I think you’re a selfish, heartless asshole,” Brian says, and Justin’s perma-smile drops away like the flick of a light switch. Because he may belong, with or without Brian, but he wants to belong _with_ Brian. The need still thrums in his veins like the rush from a good hit, and he knows he’ll always need it. Then Brian taps him lightly, and smirks. “Keep up the good work.”

Justin smiles hesitantly back, and then Brian is gone, the door shut firmly behind him. And Justin stands, staring at the panelled wood, knowing he did the right thing, the thing he needed to do, but there is a vacuum in the space that Brian’s body once occupied, and Justin closes his eyes and sees again the expression that passed over Brian’s face when he was talking about the wedding, the look that was quickly covered in sarcasm and pseudo-disbelief.

He should have hugged Brian before he left. Kissed him. Let him know that no matter what he thinks, he belongs, too.


End file.
